


Angels in the Night

by Destiny_in_the_Universe



Series: Holmes Holidays [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Holidays, Loneliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-08-29 16:09:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16747213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destiny_in_the_Universe/pseuds/Destiny_in_the_Universe
Summary: "Christmas is most truly Christmas when we celebrate it by giving the light of love to those who need it most."- Ruth Carter Stapleton





	Angels in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Mycroft has an odd encounter with someone during the holidays

It wasn’t often that Mycroft Holmes often found himself reminiscing over his life, at least that’s what he liked to think. He had been spending the Christmas holidays, alone, as he usually did, the man moving his index finger in a circle around the glass of wine he had on the table. With a sigh, he glanced down at his phone, not expecting anyone to have texted him about anything in accordance to the holidays. He was used to it, maybe a little too much. Mycroft set down his phone and pushed it aside, the government official standing up to check the contents of his fridge. He glanced down, searching through everything until he finally stopped, his eyes stilling on a lone piece of cake. He shouldn’t even be eating it, but the temptation was getting the best of him and right now, he wasn’t in an entire mood to care, especially with the fact he didn’t have anyone. Yes, he cared deeply about his little brother, Sherlock, but Mycroft knew he wouldn’t swing by. It wasn’t like Sherlock to want to come over and spend some time with his older brother, let alone for Mycroft to actually want to call. Their relationship wasn’t exactly anything of normal standards, due to their estranged past.    
  
Mycroft carefully took out the piece of sweetened food, setting the plate down on the table by the television. The auburn-haired male picked up his fork, sliding part of the slice into his mouth. He shook his head, not even bothering to turn and check if anything interesting was on. Not really caring, the British government leaned back against the couch, his eyes closing as he loosened his tie, pulling it off and letting the piece of cloth land on the furniture. He wasn’t too worried over being alone, deciding to simply spend the night working as usual. Mycroft pushed away the plate and headed towards his home office, grabbing a set of documents then laying them out. He didn’t want company. He didn’t.    
  
Time seemed to quicken and Mycroft realized with a sudden jolt that he’d somehow ended up falling asleep while working over the documents. He stirred, stifling a yawn as he stood up, suddenly freezing as he heard what sounded like... feathers? The male grabbed his umbrella, holding it in front of him like a weapon, his eyes narrowed. Mycroft slowly opened the door of his office, making his way silently into the dining room and kitchen. He stopped, not seeing anything out of place. Frowning, he almost guessed he’d misheard, but he was absolutely certain that he hadn’t.    
  
“Who’s there?” Mycroft hissed, his words sharp and cold.    
  
No answer.    
  
The government official sighed. No... there had to be something here. It couldn’t have been a bird. The noise had been too loud for a small creature like a sparrow and something like a hawk wouldn’t just show up out of nowhere, not with these temperatures. Mycroft hesitantly began to lower down his umbrella, wondering if he might simply have been mistaken, though the idea of that was simply illogical. He gasped suddenly at the sudden noise that came afterwards, a loud fluttering the same blasted wings he knew he’d heard correctly. The British man snarled, swinging his umbrella and hearing a smack against someone’s body.    
  
“Alright! Enough with the games,” Mycroft growled sharply, his eyes shining with the glint of dangerousness. He pressed the bottom of his umbrella against the perpetrator, the idiot who had broken into his home somehow despite the security system placed on the house.    
  
“Hey, now, I’m not a threat! I’m a friend, okay?!” A voice yelped.    
  
Mycroft stumbled back, eyes widened in sheer, utter disbelief as he finally saw the large appendages of wings on the man’s back. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, but it was there, right in front of him, and he couldn’t find anything that seemed to suggest it was fake.    
  
“Those... are real?” Mycroft asked, his voice trembling. He wanted to understand how this was possible, but it just didn’t make sense. How could it? It was simply not capable of happening, not when it wasn’t subjected to something concrete like Mycroft and Sherlock were used to.    
  
“Of course they’re real, Mycroft!” The winged being— angel? Avian— spoke with a wild laugh. “Now, would you kindly put away the umbrella? I’m a friend!”    
  
Mycroft’s shock turned into a look of anger, confusion. His lips curled into a sudden snarl, the hold on his umbrella tightening.    
  
“How do you know my name?” He asked, head only slightly tilted to one side. His mind was reeling because nothing of this was... he had to be dreaming. Yes, that was the only logical conclusion, and even then, he didn’t appear to be dreaming. No kind of indicator.    
  
“Well... I’m an angel. Name’s Sam,” the creature— angel— smiled.    
  
Mycroft got a better look at the angel, trying to catch anything he might’ve missed due to his inner feelings of surprise and confusion.    
  
The angel, as it— Sam— said he was, had a kind of blonde hair that appeared entirely white, with bright blue eyes, his wings a matching white. He wore clothes that appeared to be some kind of robes. A wide, beaming smile was on his face, despite the look of pure annoyance that was spread on Mycroft.    
  
“You’re- that’s not possible.” Mycroft insisted, his jaw set tightly, refusing to believe that angels could possibly be real despite the evidence displayed in front of him. This wasn’t one of Sherlock’s games or cases, no, this was something else entirely.    
  
Sam brightened even more. He laughed at the comment that the government official had died, the angel standing up and stretching out his wings, which only seemed to frighten Mycroft further.    
  
“Oh, I assure you I’m not dangerous,” Sam insisted. He chuckled, “Mycroft, please, there’s no need for- woah!”    
  
Mycroft gave a soft hiss, his blue eyes flashing in annoyance. He slowly pulled out the sword that was hidden within the umbrella, maintaining it out in such a way that it would keep Sam away.    
  
“I don’t know who you are or what kind of game this is, but you need to leave.” Mycroft’s words were laced with a deadly tone, as if one wrong move and he wouldn’t hesitate to unleash very powerful attacks.    
  


Sam smiled, “oh, come on. You know I’m not a trick.”    
  
Mycroft began to hesitate, the man slowly lowering down the umbrella-sword. He scowled, before giving a half nod of affirmation, letting the angel speak.    
  
“These last years have been rather hard on you,” Sam spoke, his voice softening to a more sympathetic-like tone. He stopped, seeing the look of frustration he got from the auburn-haired male in front of him. “You’ve spent Christmas and countless other holidays, alone, in the comfort of your own home.”    
  
Mycroft looked downright outraged.    
  
“Why are you telling me this?”    
  
Sam continued, undeterred by the aggression he received.    
  
“You don’t seem to realize that people do care.”    
  
“Excuse me?” Mycroft asked with a lowly dangerous tone to his voice. Who did this angel think he was, trying to throw comments like that?   
  
“Your brother. He does care for you. And you have Gregory LeStrade, don’t you?” Sam chuckled softly, seeing the look of pure shock on the human’s face. His wings fluttered slightly, the angel letting them tuck against his back.    
  
“You...” Mycroft warned, but the threat died on his lips.    
  
“You know I’m right. Go to your brother tomorrow. Bring LeStrade over to your house.”    
  
Mycroft was silent the entire time.    
  
“Sherlock won’t bother with me,” Mycroft retorted at the end.    
  
Sam only shook his head, almost fondly. He smiled again.    
  
“You don’t know that. He might surprise you.”    
  
Mycroft scoffed, “fine. I will go and see what happens, but don’t expect anything.”    
  
The white-feathered angel chuckled again.    
  
“My time is running short. I think it’s time for you to get up.”   
  
By the time Sam finished speaking, Mycroft was barely listening. He jolted awake, eyes slowly opening to realize he was still asleep at the table. Frowning, the government official couldn’t find any trace of the angel. Was it possible it had been nothing more than a dream?    
  
With a half-hearted sigh, he entered the kitchen again, stopping suddenly when he noticed a lone white feather sitting on the countertop. Eyes slightly parted, he realized none of it had been a dream, but that didn’t explain why he’d still woken up in his home office. It didn’t make sense. Surely... he had been in the kitchen. Was it simply his imagination and the feather was from something else? No, that didn’t make sense either. There weren’t any white birds in the area, let alone a real concrete answer. It had to have happened.    
  
“So you really were here,” Mycroft muttered, still in slight disbelief.    
  
He dug out his phone, checking for any missed texts or calls.    
  
Finding none, he simply put away his phone, Mycroft headed outside, flagging down his driver and giving his brother’s address. It was almost an impulse decision, considering that he didn’t often show up to Sherlock’s flat unannounced. The auburn-haired male was still dressed in his suit, adjusting his tie while he made sure to appear presentable as always.   
  
Once the car pulled up to Sherlock’s flat, Mycroft stepped out, ordering his driver to leave. He calmly walked up the stairs, knocking on his brother’s door.   
  
“Oh, for heav- Mycroft?” Sherlock echoed, his words laced in pure disbelief as he stared down at the form of his older sibling standing in front of him. “What are you doing here? Didn’t have anyone to spend the day with?” He snarked.    
  
“I thought that we could see each other, brother mine. Can’t say I have a lot planned today,” Mycroft smiled, his words sharp, holding a sassy remark.    
  
“Now, that’s an odd turn of events, you know.” Sherlock ended up saying. He still pulled the door back, allowing Mycroft inside. The raven-haired consultant sighed, gesturing towards a pair of chairs.    
  
“Oh, don’t be so surprised. It is the holidays after all,” Mycroft chuckled.    
  
Sherlock could only manage a small nod, before taking a seat, his brother following after him.   
  
“Do tell, Mycroft, exactly why you’re here.”    
  
Mycroft paused, before he spoke again, his words lacking the sharp edge rom before.    
  
“Is it a crime to want to visit my little brother?”    
  
Sherlock didn’t answer, mostly due to the surprise of apparent care from the representative of the British government.    
  
“... no, I suppose it’s not.”    
  
The eldest appeared almost amused, Mycroft carefully sitting down after a moment. He sighed, “Sherlock, I really did just want to come and see you.”    
  
The two didn’t say much at first, because honestly, it wasn’t like they truly had an interaction with each other. Sherlock wouldn’t bother to swing by nor would Mycroft speak to him much. Their relationship mostly consisted of the typical brothers who never admitted they cared, Mycroft spending half his time with his work and keeping Sherlock in surveillance.   
  
“Well,” Sherlock commented lightly, before pausing briefly. “I- I do appreciate you coming here.” He muttered.    
  
Mycroft simply smiled on back, the male never expecting that an angel of all things would’ve led to a sort of peace with Sherlock.


End file.
